


Eager for consumption

by Cinnamaldeide



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Age Difference, Don’t copy to another site, Episode: s01e02 Amuse-Bouche, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, M/M, Missing Scene, Mushrooms, Only Reverted, Revised Version, Season/Series 01, aesthetic included, romantic dinner, younger hannibal lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22651375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamaldeide/pseuds/Cinnamaldeide
Summary: Hannibal is younger than Will and all the more intent in establishing a connection with the unassuming profiler.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 133





	Eager for consumption

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [Jonnimir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonnimir) for offering helpful suggestions on wine pairings and to [Another_lost_one](https://archiveofourown.org/users/another_lost_one) for having beta read this work, which will probably be included in a book I’m planning to publish ❀

  


It hadn’t seemed proper to refuse Alana’s polite request for a brief confrontation with her former apprentice. “He came to pay me a visit yesterday and happened to overhear your lecture. He had so many questions,” she had told Will with a soft smile, “I thought you could answer them better than I would.”

She had ensured him profusely, the young, promising doctor wasn’t interested in his mental condition. His penchant for psychiatry and criminal profiling was a mere indulgence.

“He won’t bite,” she had joked before their official introduction in her quiet, welcoming office.

She had failed to mention his bright, dangerously sharp mind and his imposing stance despite their clear age difference. He politely offered his name, asked to forfeit excessive formalities. “Hannibal will suffice,” he had announced, which mightily surprised Will.

Doctors were often fond of their honorifics, regardless of their years of practice.

In his case, it seemed the interest had been entirely projected onto Will’s active investigation, nine bodies found on various stages of decay, all fed with sugar water intravenously and covered in a multitude of fungi. Enough to compromise their identification.

Damaged endocrine systems were a distinctive trait of diabetics and recovering alcoholics, Hannibal had noted. His suggestion had pointed Will towards doctors and pharmacists.

When Hannibal requested the pleasure of his company for dinner, a few days after the apprehension of Eldon Stammets, it hadn’t seemed proper to refuse his invitation either.

“I’m glad you accepted,” Hannibal said, plating a wild mushrooms risotto before him with practiced elegance. “I admit I wasn’t sure you would be inclined to.”

Will busied himself adjusting his napkin, waiting for Hannibal to seat himself at the other side of the table. “I’m not very social, but I have my moments.”

It wasn’t unheard of for Will to celebrate his success with a moderate amount of whiskey in the company of his pack of strays.

“The structure of a fungus mirrors that of the human brain. An intricate web of connections,” Hannibal commented, tilting his head the slightest bit. “Your recent interaction with the mushroom farmer might have inspired you to seek contact of your own.” He picked up his fork, nonchalant. “As you can see, he has proved inspirational to me.”

The intricate centerpiece between the two of them had been assembled with verdant green moss and wizened leaves, unsubtle reminders of an autumnal underbrush. A nest of poisonous, brightly-coloured specimen among them. Lethal, deceivingly appetizing.

It hadn’t escaped Will’s notice that their first course boisterously echoed the pathology of the serial killer he had just aided in catching.

Others in his place might have argued it was in poor taste to present a meal that reverberated with such clear reminders of his work, heedless of its suitability as pleasant table topic, but Will was enough in tune with the gruesome aspects of his job to not find the choice particularly disturbing.

He took a morsel of his serving, savoured it unhurriedly.

It tasted exquisite. It didn’t taste like sole mushrooms though.

“The tangier bits you might be detecting are sauté sausage, I find it gives the risotto a richer flavour,” Hannibal promptly informed him, studiously meeting his eyes. “I hope the addition doesn’t cause you distress.”

His neutral expression distantly conveyed contrition, his bright eyes glinted with interest.

“Not a problem, just unexpected,” Will said. “You do seem like the kind to follow recipes to the letter.”

“I always strive to improve myself.” A touch of pride in his voice. “I’ve been given to understand that practice makes perfect.”

Alana had mentioned he was a skilled surgeon. An artist talented enough to earn an internship at Johns Hopkins through his precise drawings, who sharpened his pencil with a scalpel, if rumours were to be trusted. Will found himself strangely compelled by the mental image of Hannibal dissecting disturbed minds as he did patients lying on his operating table.

“It’s delicious, by the way.”

“Thank you, I’m glad you approve.”

Will more than did. He hadn’t envisioned his talent would extend to the culinary art, as well as the inquisitive and deductive domain.

Hannibal was  _ brilliant_, undeniably so. Despite his tender age, academically speaking, or perhaps in virtue thereof precisely, Will had been naught but genuinely impressed by his attentive eyes, his pointed questions, his insightful remarks. Perhaps his lingering taste for the morbid.

Against his expectation, the profiler had been taken with his insightful interpretation of the killer Will himself had identified as a sort of sensitive psychopath. Enough intrigued not to avoid further contact with the young man.

Will anticipated Jack would eventually gravitate towards his orbit, drawn to his magnetic pull as Will had been, perhaps willing to involve Hannibal in their cases as an external consultant under his direct supervision.

There was something intense about his demeanour, Will mused. Something refreshing, somehow  _ raw_, about him.

A kind of roughness Will had seldom encountered outside of himself.

Something ardent that made Will inwardly suspicious, as well as at ease with him.

“You know, Will,” Hannibal interrupted his train of thought, “I might have to apologise for my ostensible eagerness to pursue our acquaintance, but at the risk of sounding forward I confess I found astonishing the way you understood why Stammets did the things he did. Beautiful in its own way,” he complimented, taking his glass in hand. A small sip of red wine barely touched his lips, lingering as a secret on the tip of his tongue, impatient to be disclosed. “Like giving voice to someone else’s deepest thoughts and reasoning.”

Will deliberately slowed his chewing, wondering whether Hannibal had intended to solely offer him a sample of his refined recipe or if there was another purpose behind his gesture.

“There has been an awful lot of discussion about the way I see connections where no one else does,” he countered. “Nothing particularly convincing so far.”

Hannibal privately smiled at his dry tone. “You might have more in common with mycelia than you think.”

“It’s not like my mind can establish the same kind of physical connection,” Will deflected, “but evidence explains my associations and mental jumps, it’s not just conclusions I draw out of thin air.”

“I have no doubt in that regard,” Hannibal ensured, a touch of complicity in his voice. “On the contrary, I’m curious as to why you decided to devote your gift to such a tough job. Can’t imagine I would sleep peacefully with thoughts of burying people alive as fertilizer in my head.”

_ Forward  _ might have been a bit of an understatement. Will felt like Hannibal knew about his night terrors and read the lingering nightmares about decomposing bodies and grave digging right through his skull, which wasn’t, quite oddly, entirely unpleasant.

He spared himself the white lie that saving people was reason enough.

Their plate emptied, then Hannibal introduced the second course. “ _Escalope de veau aux champignons_ , served with a reduced sauce on the side.”

Like its precursor, the plate looked professionally arranged.

“Bon appétit,” Hannibal said, before Will took a modest bite of meat.

The smooth cream that garnished it melted on his palate. He almost moaned at its perfect consistency, never knowing that veal could be so tender.

When Will opened his eyes, briefly closed in bliss without his realisation, he saw hunger depicted on Hannibal’s usual straight face.

Hard features. Sharp lips on smooth, angular cheekbones. No wrinkles to ripple his skin, no indication of the strong yearning Will could feel like an insistent caress.

Will couldn’t decide if he hadn’t yet averted his gaze because he was intimidated by the sensation or enraptured by the sight.

It was rude to stare, but it occurred to him that Hannibal, younger than him by at least a decade and still moderately feral under his pristine appearances, might have intended for their dinner to verge on romantic from the beginning.

The thought had Will adjusting his seat self-consciously.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Hannibal teased, knife poised between long, elegant fingers.

Will cleared his throat, busied his mouth with another delicious morsel before answering.

“If you walk through a field of mycelium, they know you are there. The spores reach for you as you walk by,” he said, unintentionally replicating Stammets’ inflection. He forced himself to recover his own. “Fungi deplete their surroundings, consume that on which they feed, fill themselves with heavy metals and poison those who feed on them in turn, little by little. Guess you could say I’m comparing similarities.”

He let the silence linger, took a sip of wine. Something light and bright, earthy undertones indulgent on his tongue.

“Consumption is part of the process, inevitably so. Perhaps one of the most fertile themes in art and literature,” Hannibal replied with ease. “Countless lyrical performances have been staged in theaters and opera houses all over the world to represent the act of eating and drinking someone else’s flesh as an inextricable bond between the carnal desires that erode flesh and bone, and the deep connection of two kindred souls that comprehend each other beyond reason. The throes of passion indissolubly welded with reciprocal understanding.” He paused. “Two concepts hard to tell apart from one another, especially while happening between lovers.”

He lowered himself to bring a bite close to his mouth. A tuft of hair slipped forward, covered his dark eyes. “A suggestive picture, wouldn’t you say?”

Will marveled at that. It was a memorably convoluted, distorted manner to describe intimacy with another person.

It also shed some light on Hannibal’s ambiguous intentions for the rest of the night.

Deliberately placing his silverware on the empty plate, Will lifted his gaze to meet the pleased, congenial smile on the other side of the table. “And is it connection or consumption you’re seeking tonight?”

Hannibal didn’t bat an eye, forkful still midair. “Yes, I think the answer to that would be.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written to celebrate that [Ao3Hannigram](https://twitter.com/ao3hannigram) reached 100 followers, took me so long they’re 150 now ( =ヮ=)  
> I wasn’t kidding about the book. Let me know if you’re interested, or if you spot errors I should fix.  
> [Find me elsewhere](https://cinnamaldeide.carrd.co/). [Post on Twitter](https://twitter.com/Cinnamaldeide/status/1226892188417695746).


End file.
